CHAPTER 59: BIDS

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the night where we save the world and look damn good doing it!" he roared, his voice slicing through the chatter like a velvet blade, drawing a tidal wave of laughter that bounced off the chandeliers. "We’re here for ’Healing Hearts for the Homeless pouring millions into shelters, disability tech, and orphanages so kids get a shot at the stars. But let’s be honest, you’re also here to outbid your frenemy on that private island retreat. Who’s feeling generous tonight?"

The crowd roared, a hedge fund titan in a velvet blazer pumping his fist while his date, dripping in diamonds, waved her paddle like a battle flag. "First big win, someone just dropped $250,000 for a surgery tour! Picture yourself ’scrubbing in’ with Dr Devon for a brain op, better than your last yacht party, right?" Laughter erupted, glasses clinking as a socialite fanned herself, giggling, "I’d pay double for Devon’s hands on approach!"

Alex leaned into the mic, eyes twinkling. "Next up, a private concert for an orphanage, imagine those kids losing it when a rock legend plays just for them. Bidding starts at $500,000 don’t make me beg!"

Paddles soared, the crowd’s energy spiking as bids rocketed to $1.2 million in seconds. "Going once... twice... sold to the lady in ruby for $1.5 million!" Alex crowed, pointing to a philanthropist who squealed, her entourage erupting in cheers. "That’s a new shelter for the homeless, folks give her a standing ovation!" Applause thundered, the quartet shifting into a vibrant waltz that lured couples to the dance floor, their gowns and tuxes a swirl of color. A venture capitalist in gold cufflinks leaned to his date, whispering, "Alex is a genius, this beats last year’s snooze-fest. I’m half-tempted to bid $2 million on that mural just to flex." His date smirked, sipping her Highball.

"Flex? I’m saving my cash for the chef’s dinner."

The board members anchored a prime table near the stage, a fortress of influence radiating power and tension. Dr Rachel Kent, the Medical Director, commanded the center, her sharp bob and tailored black pantsuit a study in authority, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. Dr Elias Thorne, Chief of Emergency medicine, his hair slicked to perfection, traded barbs with Dr Miriam , Chief of Anesthesiology, whose husky laugh sliced through the din like a scalpel.

Dr Leonard Hayes, Chief of Radiology, toyed with his cufflinks, his brow furrowed, while Professor Julian Croft, the Academic Affairs Lead, his scholarly beard framing a pensive frown, debated funding models with Dr Serena Locke, the Education Coordinator, her violet gown shimmering like a twilight sky. Dr Nadia Ruiz, the Research Director, sat like a statue, her silver-streaked bun severe, her gaze locked on her untouched champagne flute, avoiding the room’s magnetic pull.

Gregory, the suspended administrator who’d clawed his way back into the gala, was a storm cloud at the table’s edge, his bulky frame straining his tux as he glared at Devon Cole across the ballroom.

His eyes were molten with hatred, each glance a silent vow to see Devon fall, the suspension scandal still burning in his chest. Beside him, Robert matched his venom, his jaw clenched as he muttered, "Look at that bastard." Elena, Robert’s wife, sat rigid, her emerald eyes betraying her, drifting to Devon’s diamond-studded suit that gleamed like a dark constellation.

She’d been his patient, her pelvic pain banished by his "miracle" touch, and now her gaze lingered, her breath catching at the memory of his hands. "Elena, for Christ’s sake," Robert growled, his fingers digging into her arm, his voice a low hiss. "Stop staring at him like he’s some savior. He’s the reason Gregory’s out, and you’re making a fool of me."

Elena flushed, tearing her eyes away, her voice a shaky whisper. "I’m not, it’s just... he’s impossible to ignore, Robert. That’s all." But her gaze flicked back, a tangle of gratitude and forbidden heat, as Robert’s scowl deepened, his knuckles whitening around his glass.

Rachel caught Devon’s eye from the table, her face breaking into a warm, genuine smile as she raised a hand in greeting, her wave cutting through the crowd’s buzz.

The board followed with measured nods, Thorne tipping his flute with a roguish wink, Miriam flashing a sly grin, Hayes offering a curt dip of his chin, Croft and Locke exchanging approving glances like academics grading a star pupil. Only Nadia refused the ritual, her silver hair glinting like a blade as she stole a glance at Devon, ensuring his eyes were elsewhere before snapping her head away, her fingers crushing her napkin in a death grip.

Alex Rivera, riding the crowd’s fever pitch, leaned into his mic with a devilish grin. "Alright, let’s raise the stakes! Next up, a private dinner for ten with a three star chef think this man flown in from Japan, paired with a 1945 Rothschild. Bidding starts at $750,000 who’s got the hunger?"

Paddles flew like war flags, the crowd roaring as bids soared to $2 million in a heartbeat. "$2.2 million from the gent in the velvet blazer, $2.5 million from the lady in gold! Keep it coming; this funds prosthetics for a hundred disabled vets!" Alex teased, his eyes dancing.

"Don’t let your rival walk away with bragging rights and the best meal of their life!" Laughter exploded, a celebrity chef at a side table demoing that drew gasps, the flames licking the air like a dragon’s breath. The rehab tour booth buzzed with donors, one shouting, "rehab our? I’m outbidding my boss for that." His date laughed, signing them up as the line swelled.

The gala surged like a living beast, Alex’s quips landing like fireworks "Bid big, or I’ll tell your accountant you’re cheap!" while the quartet’s melodies wove a spell, couples twirling on the dance floor in a blur of silk and satin. A nurse in a teal gown whispered to her friend, "This is wild $1.5 million for a concert? I’d kill for that guitar.." Her friend grinned, raising her glass. "Forget the guitar, those rehab tours are unreal. Imagine telling people you ’operated’ with Devon. Pure flex."

But as the night hit its zenith, Nadia Ruiz rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate, her silver hair catching the chandelier light like a drawn sword. Devon, mid-chuckle at his table with Lina, caught the motion from the corner of his eye, his charming smile collapsing into a deep, shadowed frown, his fingers tightening around his flute until the stem groaned. His gaze locked on her as she threaded through the crowd.